Breaking Point
by Nearly Civilized
Summary: We all know about the present Severus Snape ... a cruel, snide, and shady individual with a particular hatred for Harry Potter. But do we know of his shadowed past? This is the story of Snape's life before his teaching career.
1. Chapter 1: Just Like You

**Author's Stuff:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters written by J.K. Rowling. This is my portrayal of them and I am not making any money off of this.

Now ... this is my story of Severus Snape. I heart Snapey, he's my absolute favorite character. This chapter might be a one-shot, or I might continue it ... I don't know yet. This is my first attempt at angst/drama and please give me con-crit so I can improve. :) Enjoy!

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The two people sat as they always did, facing each other at the left and right of the head of the table. Five empty chairs flanked outward to their right; they were high-backed and made of elegant mahogany, with carved snakes depicted curving around the armrests. A long, forest green tablecloth adorned the exquisitely set table – and each place at the table was set, no matter that most of them were empty, with the finest china positioned perfectly. In the center of the table was a variety of serving trays, bowls, and plates that displayed it's high-quality contents lavishly; steaming chicken, roast vegetables, potatoes, fruit, salad, rolls, sauces, dumplings, soups, and pastries consisted of the spread – a feast fit for a king.

A chandelier with at least two dozen golden arms containing candles hung lowly over the table, the only source of light in the dimly lit room. It illuminated the table decently but let the rest of the room in semi-darkness, shadows bounced and flickered across the walls. The room was long and narrow like the table, with wood-paneled walls such as those in a court of law and a thick, dark green carpet. Various things of value hung on the walls, including a large coat of arms with a serpent as the centerpiece and a few obscure paintings.

The room was completely silent, as if it were empty, except the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock in the back. The atmosphere was one of dark foreboding, the air thick and pressing. Something about the aura caused a twinge of nervous discomfort and a flicker of fear to enter the stomach, and the heart to beat quickly with apprehension. It felt as if something terrible were about to happen at any given second, like a hidden time bomb slowly and softly ticking away the seconds, or a predator hiding away in the shadows until the time came to fall upon it's prey.

There was only one visible exit, a golden-handled door near the back corner. One of the inhabitants of the room, a middle-aged woman, keep twitching her eyes to it nervously. She was tall and thin, looking sickly with sallow skin and an almost skeletal head; the wetness of her sunken brown eyes made easily visible her weak, sniveling personality and her broken spirit. Her eyes wouldn't remain still, either ... flickering from one thing to the next, but always drifting back to that door. Long, black hair was up in an elegant bun in a lattice net at the back of her head. She was dressed in an old-fashion full-length gown of black, with many layers of skirts and bodices, and looking as though she had bathed it in mothballs first. Her delicate arms were placed gently across her lap, but she kept wringing her hands in a fashion that would annoying most people.

The second and final occupant was a young boy of about eleven. He was tall and had the exact same skeletal frame of his mother – looking like a ghost, though, with his chalk-white complexion. His eyes weren't as sunken as his mothers, and they contained a hardness of determination that hers did not ... he wasn't broken yet, but by the deep-rooted anger harbored within them it would be soon that he fell. The boy's nose was also different from his mother's, distinctly hooking and shining slightly with grease. His face was poised grimly and he stared down at his empty plate, refusing to look up. Strands of long, greasy black hair slid from behind his ears to hang past his neck and in front of his face. He, like his mother, was dressed richly. He wore a pitch black suit with a white shirt underneath the jacket and a black bow tie at the base of his neck.

The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder and louder with every passing minute. Suddenly, the chimes rang out, proclaiming it was six o'clock, and the woman looked up quickly. She gave a sharp intake of breath and froze, listening to the soft 'gong' of each hour, counting them until the last of the six reverberated in the stillness. Then her eyes wandered to the door and she began wringing her hands more urgently. After another five drawn-out minutes, she felt a pang of panic as she heard a door slam distantly somewhere in the house. Some more doors opened and closed loudly, each getting nearer. The boy stared with more intensity at his plate, seeming to concentrate on it with all of his being. The woman had tensed like a statue and the whites of her eyes were visible, widened with terror. Steps resounded in the hallway outside of the dining room and her heart drummed; she put her arms on the armrests and clutched them, as if afraid she might jump and run away like a frightened animal. Her timing was perfect – right at that instant the steps stopped and after a very minute pause the door to the dining room was thrown open with an blisteringly loud 'bang.'

Heavy breathing could be heard from the doorway and the clearing of a scratchy throat. A tall, whip-like man stepped inside, his posture slightly bent as cruel, shadowed eyes surveyed the table and its occupants. Long strands of black, greasy hair fell into his face – which was harsh looking and hawk-like with it's hooked nose, sunken eyes, and thin lips twisted into a menacing frown. A black cloak rippled over his thin shoulders. He removed it and attached it to a hat stand in the corner of the room. He wore a simple white button-up shirt with a black vest covering it, and had black slacks; underneath them were a pair of metal-tipped leather boots. Without a word to the others, he stalked to the head of the table and seated himself. The woman remained frozen in fear and the boy continued to stare at his plate.

After wrapping a napkin around his neck, the man reached to serve himself some food. It was at this point that the women seemed to relax just a tiny bit, and after the man was done serving himself she reached out daintily to take a roll. However, she appeared to have no intention of eating it – it sat on her plate while she watched the man lifted his knife and fork to a large breast of juicy chicken.

There was a long bout of silence again while the man lifted the chicken to his lips and ate it. Then, suddenly, he turned his attentions to the boy. It was the first time he had acknowledged his presence. After swallowing, he cleared his throat again. "Well, boy, I hear you've been invited to attend Hogwarts." He said loudly and severely. The boy did not answer, merely stared at his plate intently. The man continued talking. "Shame it wasn't Durmstrang. That Dumbledore's the poorest excuse of a Headmaster I've seen, even by Hogwarts standards; but Karkaroff ... now there's a man who has his head on right." He said with a sudden evil glint in his eye. The woman murmured softly in agreement but once again, the boy said nothing.

The man took another bite of his chicken. "I suppose you'll want to be put into Slytherin, just like your grandfathers. The only house that churns out half-decent wizards." He said. "Eh, boy?"

The boy's cheek twitched ever so slightly. "No." He said suddenly and softly, his eyes narrowing as he watched the plate.

The man heard this and rose to his feet. "What did you say, boy?" He growled.

The boy didn't respond again, but as he stared at the plate the rage that was building up in his eyes was visible and almost tangible. He shook slightly as he tried to contain his anger. Suddenly, the table began to shake very slightly, the china rattling as it bounced a little bit. A soft rumbling could be heard, like that of an oncoming earthquake. The boy felt his anger continue to mount, and the table began to shake a tinge more vigorously.

The woman gasped and rose to her feet, stepping away from the table and staring at it in surprise and horror. The chairs began to shake as well and the floor vibrated beneath their feet. The soft rumbling slowly and steadily deepened. The man ignored all of this, stepping towards the boy. "What did you say?" He growled again, eyes glaring through the boy.

The table gave a violent jolt and a bowl fell to the floor, smashing into bits. The boy looked up to meet the man's glare with his own one of equal severity. "I said 'no.'" He said, his voice shaking with anger at first but growing more and more confident with every word. "I said no; I don't want to be in Slytherin, I don't want to go to Hogwarts, and I don't want to be like my grandfathers. But most of all ... I don't want to be like _you._"

The man's eyes seemed to want to burst with anger. "Why, you little brat ... I gave you everything you ever wanted ... to think, my son ..." He started, but the boy interrupted him.

"Shut up. I'm not your son!" The boy hollered, jumping to his feet. "And you're _not_ my father!"

"NO!!" The woman shrieked, for at this point the man was striding over to the boy with his arm poised to strike and a look of intense hate contorting his features. The woman ran over to the man, attaching her frail body to his upraised arm and clinging to it. "Stop, please! Don't hurt him!" She pleaded.

"GET OFF OF ME, YOU STUPID WOMAN!" The man bellowed, throwing his arm out and effectively dislodging her. She was tossed aside like a rag dog and landed on the floor with a thud. Quickly, she got up on hands and knees and crawled over to the man, wrapping her arms around his leg and weeping into it. "Please, Servont, please ..." She begged desperately, lifting her tear-filled eyes to him in total subordination as her gowned body lay sprawled on the floor.

"I said ... GET OFF OF ME!" He roared again, and this time landed a violent kick to the woman. She yelped like a hurt dog, but it was barely heard.

For when the man turned around, his own eyes widened in fright. The table's shaking was now extremely violent and the roaring had crescendoed. Then, with the ear splitting sound of thunder, the table exploded into dozens of long splinters that hovered mid-air. The boy was shaking with as much violence as the table once was, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes boring holes into the man. There was a very small pause, and then the boy said quietly and defiantly, "This is for all the people you've ever hurt ... including mother. Rot in hell." His cheek below his eye twitched and in a rush the enormous splinters were flying towards the man.

It all happened very quickly. Immediately, the man was pinned to the back wall by long splinters nailed through the center of his wrists. More splinters pierced his stomach ... the last one was driven into his heart. His eyes were wide with shock and his mouth opened, issuing only a few last ragged gasps of pain before his head drooped. He died with his face frozen in this petrified position, staring in surprise at the boy. The boy stared back at him, still shaking – but this time, the boy was not shaking in anger, but more of fear. What had he done?

Suddenly, the woman seemed to gather her wits and let out a horrified scream as she rolled over and crawled away from the man's suspended body. Long trails of blood trickled from him down the wall to the floor, where it pooled.

"I-I'm sorry." The boy stammered, feeling tears of fright creep into his eyes and shock threaten to cause him to faint. "Momma, please ... don't hate me, I'm sorry!" He cried, tearing his eyes away from the man and casting them to the woman. He started to walk towards her, hands outstretched for help. He no longer was the angry person of a few minutes ago; now he appeared helpless, like the child he really was.

The woman, however, scrambled away from him in terror. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" She shrieked hysterically.

Tears were now streaming down the boy's face. "Please momma, please ..." He whimpered, hands reaching out for her. "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry ... I swear." The boy cried desperately as he approached her.

The woman felt around in her robes and withdrew her wand, jabbing it at the boy in her shaking arm. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" She screamed again.

The boy needed no more warning. Taking one last look at her, he turned around and fled out of the door. The woman could hear him running through the house. When his footsteps were gone, she dropped her wand and crumpled into a sobbing heap at the foot of the man; his blood continued to the soak the floor, and his bugling eyes remained staring forward in horror.


	2. Chapter 2 To Certs ?

**Author's Note: **Thank you to the people who have already reviewed, DK and Queenie! I think I may just keep this going, these ideas have been floating around in my head for a while.

UPDATE - I posted Chapter Two earlier but took it down. I've decided to approach it "at a different angle," as the head of Newspaper Staff at my school says.

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Severus ran through the house that had served as a prison, flinging doors open and stumbling over tables and articles left in the middle of the floor, for the house was very dark and hard to see in. His instincts more than his mind drew him to the front door, and with a heavy tug it was caught in the wind and nearly blew open off of it's hinges. The boy's face was bitten by the chill wind and his tears stung his eyes as he took the front steps two at a time, slipping on ice at the bottom. He landed on the palms of his hands, which burned as they collided with the sharp ice; quickly, Severus shoved himself back to his feet and floundered through the thick layer of snow on the front law.

Even though it was only a little past six in the evening, the sky was already pitch black and starless under cloud cover. The streets lamps along the sidewalk cast hazy circles of yellow light around themselves, causing the heaps of dusty snow piled near them to glitter. It was snowing as if a giant being from above were emptying his bottomless feather pillow onto the world, a violent breeze buffeting the large flakes and causing them to twirl and dance in midair. The air itself was cold and as sharp as a knife's blade, and it was painful to breath, seeming in crystalize within the lungs. Severus released torrents of steam into it with his uneven panting.

Legs now thoroughly wet with snow halfway up his calf, Severus stumbled down the drive to the front gate. He grabbed the cold metal with both hands and instantly regretted it, for it seared his skin like boiling water might and as he removed his hands from them some of his skin remained wrapped about the bars. He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew his wand, stepping back and pointing it at the gates. "_Alohomora!"_ He said loudly through stiff lips, and the gates obediently flew apart. No one but Severus himself knew that he had already begun to study magic during the long hours alone in his room – never using any spells, though, just in case the Ministry caught on. Normally he would've been pleased with the success of his magic, but today he didn't care. He shoved his wand roughly back into his pocket and ran out of the tall iron barrier.

Severus followed the long dirt road that wound away from his family's isolated property, his feet crunching loudly on the frozen gravel. Literally, he was running away from the place of so many horrid memories. But really, it was those memories Severus was running away from. He was running away from years of torment and suffering. He was running away from the terrible things he had seen and heard. And, perhaps most importantly, he was running away from what he had done to his father. But run as fast he could, Severus would never escape any of these things. He did try, though ... running himself until his lungs burned and his side ached and he was forced to slow to a brisk walk.

Half-covered with snow, Severus was numb with cold. His mind was perhaps as numb with another sort of pain, a pain that kept him going despite the fact that his lips were turning blue and white splotches were beginning to dominate the bright red of his wind-burnt face. Snow settled on the black of his hair and of his suit. He continued like this for about ten minutes, then whipped out his wand and with a flick attempted a spell that would conjure up a small flame – the spell was unsuccessful and only a few puffs of smoke issued from the tip. Cursing, he whipped his wand arm away from his body and then let it flop to it side.

Suddenly, a horn blared behind him. Severus looked over his shoulder and was blinded by the bright lights of an enormous triple-decker bus swaying and bouncing dangerously down the road at a surprising speed – directly towards him! The horn blared again and Severus dove towards the side of the road. As it was, the bus had to swerve slightly to avoid hitting him as it's brakes squealed to a halt a few feet in front of him. Tentatively, Severus approached the front of the startlingly purple bus, noticing the words "The Knight Bus" painted across the front.

The door was thrust opened and a portly man waddled down the steps. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation for the stranded witch or wizard." The man looked about for the aforementioned witch or wizard, spotting Severus and bustling over. "My, boy, you don't look well! What happened?" He said, losing his tone of formality for one of kind concern. Severus said nothing and just stared at him, sniffling through his ice-crusted nose. There was an awkward pause and the man cleared his throat. "Well ... Come along aboard and we'll get you something warm to drink." He said brusquely, turning back towards the opening of the bus. "Logan!" He hollered up the steps. "Hand me down a blanket and some of that chocolate, we've got a half-frozen kid out here!" There came a loud grunt and then a rolled up blanket flew out of the door of the bus.

Severus seemed unwilling to move and stood there, the wind playing with bits of his black hair like long streamers as his eyes looked nervously at the Knight Bus worker. The portly man unraveled the blanket and quickly wrapped it around Severus's shoulders. "There you go, lad. Here's some chocolate, now let's get you inside into the warm." The man handed Severus a large bar of chocolate. Severus, his hand shaky, took it but did not eat any of it. Then, for a split second, the portly man's gaze met Severus's. A shiver, though not from the cold, wracked the bus man's frame as he seemed to recognize the boy's face.

"Come, come quickly." The man said, his tone quieter and more urgent. Severus felt himself being guided up the stairs into the brightly lit purple bus. It had white-washed walls and cots on wheels were lined up where the seats would normally be, a few of them occupied by night-capped witches and wizards. The driver in the compartment was a burly, hairy man with multiple tattoos. The portly man hurried up to the driver and whispered something in his ear; they both looked at Severus with equally nervous expressions. The driver nodded and pushed the gas, and the bus began once again to fly down the street. The portly man took a seat in a chair up front, rubbing his hands together and eyeing Severus.

Severus was nearly thrown into the front cot by the force of the bus's speed. He sat on it and stared blankly forward, ignoring the pain in his hands and his face. The bus jerked and swerved and Severus swayed with the motions listlessly. It was impossible to see where they were going due to the blackness outside, and only once in a while would a flicker of light from a street lamp blink past each of the windows. As he watched everything that was familiar to him fly by, Severus felt a sob well up and stifled it. He succeeded in reducing it to a muffled whimper. The portly man heard this and glanced his way. "Everything alright?" He asked.

"Yes, sir." Severus replied quietly, and to keep himself busy so he wasn't asked any awkward questions, he bit into the chocolate. It was very delicious and strangely warming in the stomach.

"We'll get you home as quickly as possible." The man said, wrongfully guessing the source of Severus's woes and trying to comfort him.

"I don't have a home." Was Severus's mournful reply after another bite of the chocolate.

"Really? Is that why you were wondering around out in the snow at night?" Said the man in a rather unconvincing tone of shock. "Well, is there anywhere you can stay?"

"Certs." Severus said after a long pause, the first place that popped into his head and coincidently the location of his uncle's house. "My uncle's house." He added as the thought occurred to him. The portly man affected a nod.

"That'll cost you five sickles." He explained.

"I don't have any money." Said Severus. His wide eyes glanced worriedly at the portly man.

"Don't worry, you're uncle will probably be more than willing to pay the fee once he sees you. Logan here'll get you to Certs on the jiffy ... you'll be there within the next hour, I promise." The portly man hollered to the driver the location and then sat back. Severus took to watching the darkness of the windows of the Knight Bus, which were slightly clouded with condensation. A loud snoring issued to his right, where a wizard was fast asleep in bright purple pajamas decorated with yellow stars. Severus's was reminded of his uncle ( for he snored in a similar fashion ) and he wondered what the man would say when he showed up on his front doorstep with news that he had murdered Servont. Severus shuddered, for his uncle, although fair and just, had a mighty temper just like Servont's. At the thought of his father, Severus's mind went strangely blank and empty. He wriggled and drew the blanket around him tighter.

Soon, more and more lights became visible from the windows and it was evident they were entering a city of some sort. Severus had to hold onto a golden pole in the center of the bus to keep from being jerked about haphazardly – for the bus now had to contended with everything from garbage cans to other cars. Severus's hands and feet began to itch and his face burned as if he had a fever. Strangely, he longed to be outside in the cold again, which would be a great relief.

Buildings became visible, as well as streets flanked with Muggle pedestrians on either side dressed in thick wooly clothes and many of them carrying multiple shopping bags. Neon signs for stores and shops became streams of color in the Knight Bus's windows. Instead of slowing down through the heavy traffic that had accumulated as they went deeper and deeper into the heart of town, the bus seemed to slide past and wind around the many cars. Severus wondered what the Muggles must think, but they seemed to be blatantly oblivious to the triple-story bus swerving in and out along the streets.

Suddenly, the bus braked and stopped all at once, and Severus held fast on the golden pole to keep himself from flying through the windshield. He looked to the cots behind him, wondering what wizard's stop this was. But the portly man look intently at Severus with eyes slightly alight with eagerness. "Here's where you get off." He said to the boy.

"But you promised to take me to Certs." Severus said in confusion. "This isn't Certs."

"Oh, I know!" The man said gleefully, his caring and kindly mood instantly vanishing. Without another word he hurried down the steps of the bus and opened the door, bursting outside into the cold with a cry of, "We've got him! We've got the boy who killed his father! He's right in there!"

Severus's heart leapt with fear. Wizards around him who were still awake were looking at the boy in various stages of astonishment. The boy's eyes darted around for a place to run, a place to hide ... but there were none. He pressed himself against the back of the Knight Bus's wall, red face paling. When he looked out of the window onto the street, he felt his mind go into a full fledged panic.

He realized that the Knight Bus had stopped right at the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, which was a rusty old phone booth situated along a narrow, deserted street. Only a few buildings, most of them abandoned and deserted, loomed up along the road. Severus had been here once before. He had come with his uncle, who worked in the Ministry, while he was staying at his uncle's house during the time when his father and his house had come under investigation for a few strange artifacts in the basement. It looked exactly the same as it had done only a year or so before.

Three men, not including the portly Knight Bus one, were milling about the front of the bus as they listened to the portly man tell his story rapidly and with excitement. He couldn't really make them out, although one appeared to be holding some sort of axe and another looked rather official-looking. But that wasn't what frightened Severus.

For a little distance away was an unusually tall figure dressed in long, dark robes that's tattered hems fluttered carelessly in the wind. Nothing of it's body was visible – even it's feet, for it hovered above the ground a few inches instead of standing. It looked like a sort of grim reaper, for it's bowed head was completely covered in the hood of it's ghastly robe. Severus had only read about things like it in books.

It was a Dementor, and, by the way it lilted it's hooded face in his direction, and the smothering darkness that entered his being at that exact moment, Severus knew it was here for him. And seeing a Dementor so far from it's home in Azkaban could only mean one thing.


End file.
